


A Cruel Hand

by Ahziel



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alpha Ramsay Bolton, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Theon Greyjoy, Omegaverse, Ramsay Bolton is His Own Warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:40:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25004044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ahziel/pseuds/Ahziel
Summary: It's been almost a year since omega Theon Greyjoy was abducted by serial killer Ramsay Bolton and imprisoned within a cabin somewhere in the Northern woods.When Theon's birth control implant expires, however, and his heat cycle reengages, Ramsay is inspired to play a little game: What will it take to make Theon Greyjoy beg for his knot?
Relationships: Ramsay Bolton/Theon Greyjoy
Comments: 16
Kudos: 112





	1. Setting the Board

Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the dark curtains. Aside from the beams that painted squares of light across the floor, the room was dim with shadow.

Theon turned his face into the bed. 

It was late-morning, his inner clock told him, though he couldn’t be sure of the minute. The cabin had no clocks, analog or otherwise. Nor did he know the calendar date for certain. But underneath the bed frame on one of the slats holding up the mattress were rows of neat little tally marks, etched in place by his fingernails. The count was up to 342 notches. It hurt to look at them, their tidy rows screaming the same increasingly hopeless message.

If his count was correct, it had been seven days since the last visit. _Ramsay will be coming soon,_ he realized, watching dust motes drift through the sunbeams. The thought was enough to break through his lassitude and he heaved himself up off the bed, wobbling only slightly. Sometimes he still hesitated to bear his weight with his left foot; after Ramsay had driven a spike through it, he hadn’t been able to walk for weeks. The habit of gingerly hobbling to and from the small cluster of rooms had become ingrained.

The cabin’s bedroom was the second largest room, though its floor space was mostly taken up by the enormous bed, half-broken drawers, and all sorts of knick-knacks Ramsay had collected. The bedroom door was missing. Ramsay had pried it off following Theon’s attempt to create a barricade early in his captivity. 

Thereafter door-less, the bedroom now connected without barrier to the small kitchen. Beyond the kitchen was a short and narrow vestibule containing the only entrance, which Ramsay kept padlocked on the outside. Adjacent to that anteroom was a small alcove that housed the tiny bathroom—just a simple toilet, really, and a curved pipe that poured cold water into a slop sink. 

Theon paused outside the door, tasting the air. It smelled still and stale as usual. If he strained, he thought he could detect Ramsay’s scent, long-faded. Satisfied, he slipped into the tiny kitchen and opened the junky refrigerator. Ramsay’s groceries took up the first shelf. The rest of the fridge was empty.

 _Bad dog! No human food for you!_ Ramsay’s scolding echoed in Theon’s mind, stirring up memories of beatings and starvation like silt kicked up from a riverbed. Theon shuddered, but willed himself to carefully remove the groceries anyway. During his last visit, Ramsay had left specific instructions about the meals Theon was to have ready for his return. Part of his “wifely” duties, he called it.

Half of Theon wanted to do nothing, damn the consequences. Pained by both old and recent injuries, and his mind dulled by forced imprisonment, he longed to return to the bedroom and sleep while he could. Ramsay always hurt him even if he obeyed his instructions to the letter anyway. What did it matter?

The other half of Theon listened to his animal-like hindbrain, the part that gibbered in wordless terror at the mere concept of intentionally angering Ramsay. That half usually won out over the other.

As Theon shuffled to the electric stovetop, the chain between his ankles clanked. Barely half a step was allowed before it went taught. The metal cuffs clasped his ankles tightly. He’d tried inserting bits of fabric between the skin and metal, but there was no room to spare; as he lost weight, Ramsay made them tighter and tighter so they stayed snug. The skin around them was red with rash. Above the cuff on his left leg, the electric collar rubbed irritatedly against his ankle bone. The small green light glared up at him balefully. Theon rarely bothered testing the invisible electric fence anymore. He couldn’t get the damn thing off, and if Ramsay ever saw evidence of tampering, he hurt Theon in unspeakable ways.

Still bleary, Theon began setting up the meal preparations. He could do a simple breakfast with what Ramsay had left him. One tomato, painstakingly sliced with a very blunt and small plastic knife. Two slices of hearty brown nut bread, which he decided to use for toast. The three eggs, Theon set aside for later. Ramsay would want them to be hot. Finally, the packet of sausage, which Theon ripped open with his teeth and emptied into a frying pan. He set the electric burner on low and glanced out the frosted kitchen window. The sun was shining brightly now. It wouldn’t be long.

Sure enough, as Theon was turning over the slices of tomato so they would brown evenly on both sides, he heard the crunch of tires over gravel. Immediately, his throat closed with fear. He’d been avoiding thinking about Ramsay’s upcoming visit as much as possible because it was the only way he could get himself through the routine he had been given. But now the memories threatened to choke him. Moving quickly, he cracked the three eggs into the only spare pan and cranked up the flame so they would cook faster. His shaking fingers slipped on the dial twice. The pan had a noticeable dent in its bottom, a leftover mark from where Ramsay had beaten him with it after Theon tried to use it as a weapon. He’d never tried again after that. Every unsecured item in the cabin—the small plastic knife, the oven with the electric burners, the two pans, even the single set of cutlery—had only been permitted after Theon had been beaten savagely for daring to use them in his escape attempts.

Theon flinched when he heard the sound of the car locking, followed by the heavy tramp of boots up to the door. He swallowed and tipped the eggs onto the single cracked plate from the cupboard, followed by the browned sausage links and the crisped tomato slices.

When the door banged open, Theon had only just moments before set the plate on the little square table. He dropped to his knees and bowed his head, hands buried in his lap so he wouldn’t have to look at what Ramsay had done to his fingers.

Ramsay’s scent swirled into the cabin, accompanied by a burst of fresh air from outside. It smelled like early fall. It really had been almost a year, then. Theon’s gut ached with the need to scramble through that door. He hadn’t stepped a single foot outside during his entire captivity.

“Wife,” Ramsay greeted, clomping through the entryway. 

_Wife,_ Theon thought. So it was going to be one of those days. This was a game all on its own, Theon knew. When Ramsay called him "wife" during his greeting, Theon knew to play the role of the submissive woman. When Ramsay called him “pet,” or “my little cur,” it was a different game entirely.

“Husband,” Theon answered, as opposed to the “master” or “alpha” any of the other games might have required from him.

“Ah, I see my wife has been cooking for me!” Ramsay said as he stepped into the kitchen, feigning surprise as though the breakfast had been at Theon’s whim and not by threat. As usual, his scent filled up the whole room like a foul miasma, choking Theon’s lungs. He stank overpoweringly of male alpha. Theon wondered if he would ever become used to the odor. Before his captivity, he’d only caught whiffs here and there from those who chose not to go on suppressants or wear scent patches. “Ah, it looks wonderful, darling.”

Theon cringed as Ramsay slid past him to the table. It was easier to say nothing than risk saying something wrong. Ramsay delighted in twisting Theon’s words to punish him.

Ramsay sat in the single chair and admired his plate for a moment. “Lovely.” He glanced at Theon then, blue eyes liquid and shining in the light from the window. “Oh, forgive my rudeness. Are you hungry?”

Theon was so hungry he could barely stand—it felt like a rat had gotten trapped in his stomach and was attempting to chew its way free. Sometimes when the hunger pangs kept him from sleeping, he slipped into a half-slumber and woke up clawing at his own stomach to free the rat he’d dreamed of.

“No, husband,” he said, following his script word for word. “It—it fills me with—” he hesitated, trying to remember the dialogue Ramsay had given him, “I am filled with pleasure to see you happy.”

“If you’re sure,” Ramsay said, smiling. “There’s really only enough for one person anyway, I suppose.” 

Ramsay was a messy and voracious eater. Theon stared at the worn floorboards, tracing the familiar whorls and cracks and jumping at every scrape of cutlery.

When Ramsay was finished, he pushed the dishes away from himself and sat back in the chair with a belch. “Right!” he exclaimed with a joyful clap that made Theon jump. “Before I forget—today is a very special day!”

He paused, head tilting in a cue for Theon.

“It is?” Theon mumbled. His empty stomach cramped with increasing dread. This was a departure from their normal routine. Usually, Ramsay ate the meal he had instructed Theon to cook, then dragged him into the bedroom and raped him. Or, if he’d arrived with his folded-up leather mat of torture implements, he pushed the bed up against the wall and bolted Theon’s chains to the railroad spikes that had been driven into the bedroom floor. Theon risked a quick glance upwards. He didn’t see the hated leather mat anywhere on Ramsay’s person.

“Yes, love,” Ramsay said. He patted his thigh; obediently, Theon shuffled closer on his hands and knees, chain jingling. “It’s our anniversary!”

Was it possible his count could have been off? Sure, there had been times when Theon was left in a battered stupor after Ramsay had finished with him, but was it possible he'd dissociated entire days away? Ramsay was greedily watching his face while he struggled to control his emotions. Theon couldn't have faked an expression of happiness even if he’d wanted to, but that didn’t deter Ramsay.

“Aren’t you excited?” he prompted. His scent roiled with his own fervor, oily and overwhelming.

“Yes,” Theon answered quickly.

“Really? You don’t seem it.”

“I am, I am,” Theon stammered. Ramsay’s tone had cooled a few degrees. He had to be careful now. Ramsay’s moods were mercurial, jumping from sunny to hurricane and back without warning. Theon searched his brain for the right platitudes. “I am … so grateful that you’ve kept me. You make me so happy.”

“Sweet boy,” Ramsay murmured. He leaned over and rubbed the pad of his thumb along Theon’s jawline. In the same intimate whisper, he continued, “But that’s not the only reason I’m excited. Can you guess what else?”

Theon’s mind went blank. He hated when Ramsay asked him questions. There was never a right answer. He tried desperately to force himself to concentrate, but couldn’t work through the haze of blunt terror that had deadened him. Somewhere in that fog, Theon had long ago lost his knack for conversation.

Ramsay laughed when Theon remained silent.

“It’s _this_ , my dull wife,” he said, gripping Theon’s upper arm. Theon went rigid. Ramsay was stroking a tiny bump under his skin. “It’s been a year now. This little thing stopped releasing hormones weeks ago.” He laughed like a child. “I could have carved it out at any time, but I thought it would be nice for us to build up our relationship before sharing a heat cycle. It’s not wise to go rushing into such things. Don’t you agree?”

 _My birth control implant,_ Theon remembered with dawning horror. He’d forgotten entirely about the thing, so accustomed to chasing sex without fear of messy heats and unwanted pregnancies. Suddenly the recent aches in his lower back made more sense, the mysterious swollen tenderness of his scent glands, the way the growth of his facial hair had slowed.

A heat. With _Ramsay._

Sour bile rushed up Theon’s throat. It was too horrible to think about.

“Ramsay,” he begged, pulling away, and yelped when Ramsay fisted his hair and pulled him in close. His eyes watered. “Not a heat, please, please don’t, I’ll do whatever you want …”

Ramsay laughed cruelly. “You’ll do whatever I want anyway, as a good omegan wife should.” He grinned. “What, were you expecting me to take you to a health clinic so they could put in a new one? Seriously?”

“I won’t tell the doctor!” Theon nearly stumbled over the words in his eagerness to spit them out. “I won’t, I swear it, you can stay in the room with me the whole time—”

He silenced when Ramsay touched one of his scent glands. It was gentle, but Theon remembered the vicious pleasure Ramsay had taken in torturing the area … hot pokers, flaying knives, cigarette burns and countless other tortures. The patch of skin had become so mutilated Theon half-wondered if it could be mistaken for a traditional mating bite, a barbaric practice that had long died out. Tears sprang to his eyes. “Ramsay,” he begged in a whisper, trembling with misery.

“I can’t wait,” Ramsay murmured as he leaned in to smell Theon’s neck. Theon’s skin crawled in revulsion. It always did at Ramsay’s proximity. “Your scent is already changing. Can you feel it? It doesn’t smell too far off. Wow, those things really quit the moment they quit, eh? No nasty lingering side-effects. The marvels of modern medicine!”

He slid off his chair and pushed Theon all the way down to the floor. Theon moaned in fear. Ramsay’s hands were tight around his bruised wrists. 

“They say omegas in heat behave like sex-crazed beasts,” Ramsay whispered, brushing his nose along Theon’s throat. “They’ll mewl and roll over and spread their legs for any alpha who happens to stroll on by.” Theon could feel how excited the fantasy made Ramsay; the evidence of it jutted stiff and hot against the front of his pants. Ramsay’s smile pressed into Theon’s skin like a brand. “They say the first heat off of birth control is even worse. How long do you think it will take you to beg for me?” He spoke slow and soft like a lover.

Somehow, Ramsay’s voice sliced through the fog that had crept into Theon’s brain over a period of months and made itself at home. Perhaps Theon was driven hysterical by the prospect of heat with Ramsay, or maybe he’d finally snapped—either way, spurred by the efflux of emotion, he threw himself suddenly into spasms, writhing like a dying snake. 

_“GET THE FUCK_ OFF _ME, YOU PSYCHO!”_ he screeched. Theon could feel himself frothing at the mouth. When Ramsay was too slow to release him, he launched at his forearm and tried to sink his teeth into Ramsay’s skin. “I HATE YOU! _I HATE YOU!_ I’D _NEVER_ FUCKING BEG FOR YOU TO TOUCH ME, I _HATE_ YOU, YOU— _mmph_ —” The rest of his scream was lost in Ramsay’s meaty palm. Like a flame pinched between two fingers, his sudden rage burned away and flipped inside out into a terror that was beyond words. Theon began to weep. His whole body shook with emotion. Ramsay was going to hurt him so badly for lashing out. In that moment, Theon wished more than ever that he was dead.

But Ramsay was not hurting him. He wasn’t reaching for his belt, or drawing a flaying knife from one of the sheaths he kept on his person, or cocking his arm back to club Theon with a heavy fist. Instead, he’d leaned away while Theon had raged and only come closer when Theon collapsed moments after his fit subsided.

“Shh,” he purred, stroking Theon’s wrists. The touch was so gentle, so kind that it prompted a new flood of tears. “I understand. The internet said you’d be more emotional during this period. It’s okay. Your alpha is here.”

Theon shook his head, wordless as tears slid down his temples and nestled in his hair.

Ramsay’s face brightened. “Oh! I know!” He sat up, expression giddy. “Why don’t we make this a little more exciting?” He clapped his hands. “We’ll make a little game out of it. I have an idea about the rules. Do you want to hear them?”

Theon sniffled, nodded his head, even though he felt as though Ramsay had punched him in the gut. Games with Ramsay were never fun at all; usually, they ended with Theon in blood and tears.

Ramsay smiled. “I will take off your shock collar and chains, and then I’ll let you go!” He gestured over his shoulder. “Right through that door! If you escape the woods without crawling back to me begging for my knot, you win!”

Theon’s lip quivered. He was terrified into silence; somehow, there was a trick in this, a small detail Ramsay was “forgetting” to mention. The game he’d proposed couldn’t be true. Ramsay would _never_ let Theon leave the cabin. Even when Theon had gotten feverishly sick from an infected wound some months ago, Ramsay had treated him right there in the bedroom, deaf to Theon’s pleas for a doctor.

 _“But!_ If I win!” 

Theon jumped when Ramsay’s hand cupped over his groin. “I get to take this cock right here as a trophy.” He looked up, eyes alight with cruelty. “Not like omegas even need this vestigial bit of flesh, anyway.”

Theon swallowed. He didn’t want to agree to the game, but Ramsay never gave him a choice about participation. “Okay,” he whispered. 

Ramsay squeezed his handful of flesh. Theon whined in pain. “Splendid! I’ll come to visit in a day or two.” He winked conspiratorially. “I expect you’ll be about _ripe_ by then.”

  
  



	2. Countdown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta we die like men

The night of Ramsay’s visit, Theon had a strange dream.

He dreamed he was in his apartment with Robb, standing in front of their oven. The pot of macaroni on the stovetop kept frothing over. The only logical solution seemed to be scooping up boiling water with his bare hands to add back to the pot, but it burned, and the burn seemed to spread up his arms in tides of heat until he was engulfed in flame head to toe, still trying to keep the pot from overflowing …

“Robb, help me!” he cried out, tongues of fire licking at his face. It was so hot, he was going to burn to a crisp. “Robb!”

But Rob wasn’t there—in fact, neither was the pot of macaroni—and Theon was laying on the bed in the cabin while Ramsay pressed kisses against his scorching throat. Theon hurt in a way he couldn’t describe, a smoldering ache that seemed to reach into the innermost parts of him and strum the strings of his soul like a harp.

“My omega,” Ramsay breathed, hot and heavy, moving inside Theon, who was unbearably full. “Good boy. _Good boy.”_

Theon whined, tilted his hips up into the thrusts. “Yes,” he gasped, though he still felt like he was going to be sick and was wondering distantly about where the pot of macaroni had gone, “Yes, please, alpha, please …”

He felt the blunt edge of Ramsay’s teeth scraping over his mating gland—

—and woke up, gasping for breath. He was hot, blazingly so, and entangled in a mess of sheets that had become wrapped around him in his sleep like a constricting snake. When he kicked them off, they stuck to his sweaty skin. Trembling, he stared at the dim ceiling and tried to calm his racing heart. 

A moment later he became aware of a strange sensation between his thighs. He wormed a hand down his ragged pair of pants to investigate, discovering in the process that he was hard. When his fingers cautiously inspected behind his sack, they skated in slippery wetness. The skin there was so sensitive that even the slight touch made the breath stutter in his chest. He drew his hand back out of his pants and stared at his fingers in the dark. Clear thin ropes of slick stretched elastically between them. 

He’d nearly forgotten what it was like to be aroused. 

Certainly he couldn’t recall it being this messy; even at his most-turned on, Theon had always needed a packet of lube when he was in the mood to be fucked. But this … he’d never been in heat before, so how would he have known the physical effects?

As he was thinking this, he realized his hand had snuck back into his pants and begun to unconsciously trace shivery circles around his hole, feeling at the crinkled whorls there, how absolutely soaked the area was, dipping his fingertip in and out…

He jerked his hand out of his pants again and wiped his slick on the sheets.

No. _No._

“You bastard,” he said aloud into the darkness. He meant for it to come out in an angry shout, but it slumped from his lips in a defeated whisper instead. Even when Ramsay wasn’t there, he was afraid to raise his voice. “You absolute _bastard_.”

Ramsay kept a stock of small rags in one of the cabinets that he used to blot Theon’s wounds when flaying him. Sometimes the welling blood got in the way, Ramsay had once explained, and he needed to soak it up so he could see what he was doing. Wouldn’t want to accidentally nick a vital vein, of course.

Theon left the kitchen lights off so he wouldn’t see the bloodstains. That way, it was easier to just imagine they were regular rags; if he looked too long at the gruesome evidence of Ramsay’s work, he got lightheaded. After he’d mopped up between his thighs as best as he could, he crawled back into bed and tried to fall back asleep. If Ramsay was actually serious about this game, and it wasn’t some big awful joke, then Theon would need all the strength he could get. Starting off sleep-deprived would only set him at a disadvantage.

He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the humid dampness of his skin.

* * *

When morning arrived, Theon had gotten a handful of hours of uneasy slumber. But an uncomfortable feeling had begun in the pit of his stomach during the night and spread to his entire body—a strange restlessness, persistent dry mouth, and flushed skin. Though he drank repeatedly from the faucet, it did not touch his sense of thirst or cool his temperature. 

Today more than usual, the cabin felt much too small. If he could have shed his skin and climbed up the walls, he would have. He found himself vacillating between periods of blank, zombie-like stillness and bursts of intense energy that left him hobbling in circles around the kitchen.

The slick was also a growing problem. He’d already soaked through the seat of his pants before wising up and stuffing a rag between his legs. It made him feel like a bloody woman on her period, but it was better than feeling the fabric of his pants suction to his wet skin. 

Around mid-day, another problem presented itself: Theon was _starving_. Swallowing his own saliva made the hunger pangs even more apparent. Ramsay hadn’t left any food behind this time, which was fortunate, because Theon was certain he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself from eating it. 

During Ramsay’s more prolonged absences, Theon was forced to eat the disgusting dry dog food kibble Ramsay kept stocked in the cabin. But sometimes, when Ramsay felt kind, he’d bring Theon takeout from a fast-food restaurant. The food was always cold and greasy, but Theon had learned to be thankful. Anything was more welcome than the dog food. 

Thinking about that reminded Theon of the time Ramsay had brought him a burger from McDonald’s. Even just remembering the smell made Theon’s mouth grow wet. Ramsay had pulled it from its oily wrapper and set it on the table. 

You can have a bite for every time you swallow around my cock without choking, he’d said, spreading his legs and undoing his belt. At the time, Theon hadn’t been fed in six days. 

Ramsay’s cock was musky and bitter but the burger—cold and stale—had been so good. 

He snapped out of the daydream when he realized it was triggering more saliva … and also a flush of heat down below. 

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” he muttered, wiping himself clean. His slick glistened on the fibers of the rag. Disgusted, he threw it into the corner and fetched a new one. He’d never been aroused by Ramsay before (not that the son of a bitch had ever even made an effort) and he wouldn’t let a biological imperative change that. 

The sun crept higher in the sky. 

Theon spent his time laying on the bed in a nervous wait. Sometimes he’d get up and rearrange the threadbare pillows, punching them into shape. Repeatedly, he’d jump out of bed and strip everything off the stained mattress, only to dress it up again. He was starting to feel like the children’s story of the princess and the pea—no configuration of the bed felt right. Something was always missing, teasing at the edge of his senses, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. 

At some point in the late afternoon, Ramsay came knocking.

By that point, Theon had taken to drowsing on his stomach on the bed, half his clothes discarded and limbs flopped everywhere. It was so _hot_. He could barely think.

The door squeaked open, but Theon was still thinking about the fact that Ramsay had knocked before entering. What did that mean? Ramsay had never knocked before. His thoughts, dulled by months of captivity, were made duller by the overwhelming discomfort he was in. They crawled after one another, slow as molasses. 

Theon made a conscious effort to rouse himself when he felt the mattress dip under Ramsay’s weight. 

“How are we feeling today?” Ramsay hummed. Theon felt himself freeze and bunch up. Ramsay’s hand laid itself lightly on Theon’s nape. Theon, who had been trained to interpret any gentle contact with Ramsay as a precursor to violence, was shocked to feel his muscles instantly unknot under Ramsay’s hold. “Hmm. Your skin is very warm …” Ramsay paused, made a big show of inhaling. “... _my,_ and I’d certainly say your scent is more than ripe enough. Are you ready for our little game?”

Theon forced himself to roll away even though it felt like every cell of his body cried out in dismay. “You said you’d take off the chains and the shock anklet,” he rasped, knowing there was little he could do about it if Ramsay had decided to renege on the deal and alter the rules of the game.

Ramsay held up a keyring, spinning it jauntily around his fingers. “Of course I will. I want this to be fair.” He lowered his voice co-conspiratorially. “It’s no fun if you make it too easy for me, you know.”

Under Ramsay’s precise hands, the shackles fell off easily enough. Theon rubbed at the bared skin, sensitive under his touch. Purple scars circled his ankles where the edges had cut into his flesh. The anklet came off next. Theon kicked his heel and wondered at how light it felt now that the weight he’d grown accustomed to was gone. 

“Remember,” Ramsay said as he paused. He was kneeling on the ground in front of where Theon sat on the edge of the bed. His eyes nearly glowed with excitement. “If you make it out of the woods before I catch you, you win, and I’ll leave you be. But if you come crawling back to me for my knot,” a flicker of a smile, “then I win, and I’ll take your useless cock as a trophy. Sound agreeable?”

“Okay,” Theon whispered, not believing Ramsay would ever willingly let him go for a second. Each of his breaths was a delicate balance of sucking in enough oxygen to feed his lungs without drawing in more of Ramsay’s scent, which had morphed into something spicy and captivating. 

Ramsay smiled, gently rubbed the outside of Theon’s knees for a moment. 

“Let’s start the game, then,” he murmured, and helped Theon outside. 

Theon’s knees went weak as they crossed the cabin’s threshold and his senses expanded for the first time in nearly a year to take in the outdoors. A love for nature had never been a part of his personality prior to being abducted, but now he stared wide-eyed at the trees that surrounded them, the weeds poking up around the cabin’s foundation, the lush carpet of grass spreading out from them like a verdant sea. Pine trees kept the small glade well-shaded. This forest must have been ancient; the pines stood so tall they nearly crowded out the sky. 

Ramsay dumped him. Theon barely managed to catch his balance before earning a mouthful of pine needles. 

“Well?” Ramsay said impatiently. “Start running. You’ve got a two-hour head-start.” He sat down on the stoop and produced a cigarette carton from a pocket on his jacket. “Clock is ticking …” he added in a singsong voice as he raised one to his lips. 

Theon needed no further encouragement. He bolted from the cabin, spurred by terror and a desire for freedom. Distantly he heard Ramsay mock his limp, but it didn’t matter. _It didn’t matter._ For the first time, Ramsay had allowed his ironclad control over his captive to ease just the slightest bit. It would prove to be his greatest mistake. Theon might walk with a permanent limp now after what Ramsay had done to his foot, and he might be spiraling into heat, but surely two hours would be enough time to put a sizeable chunk of distance between them—unless Ramsay had lied about the head-start, in which case there was little Theon could do. 

He ran until the cabin was no longer visible between the trees. The thought occurred to him that Ramsay must have arrived at the cabin via a vehicle as usual. For a moment, he was tempted to double-back and sneak around the clearing until he found where Ramsay had parked it. Maybe he could hotwire it. His brothers had been good at that, Theon remembered, but he’d been too young to learn the trick before being sent off to foster with the Starks. And anyway, modern cars were impossible to hot-wire, he knew that much. It would just be a waste of precious time. 

His body was weak and wasted, riddled with discomforts and pains both old and recent, but he found himself sustaining a surprisingly speedy space as he plunged deeper and deeper into the woods. All the nervous energy bottled up inside had finally found an outlet. He even dared to let out a hysterical giggle. Ramsay _hated_ his laughter and his smiles. Theon had been beaten every time he dared show a nervous smile. The gaps in his teeth attested to it. Without realizing it he’d trained himself out of the nervous habit.

But it was good to laugh again, even though it was quiet and strained, sounding more scared than merry. Something small he’d reclaimed for himself—hopefully the first of many.

 _I’ll get everything back,_ he dared to let himself think for the first time in months. _When I get away, I can pay for someone to fix my teeth and operate on my foot. And plastic surgeons to remove the scars on my neck …_

Eventually, Theon was forced to slow his pace in order to let his lungs recover.

Ramsay had always been careful never to let slip any information about the cabin’s location, but Theon was confident they were still somewhere in the north. The trees in this forest were coniferous pines, and the north was famous for its pines. He didn’t remember exactly how Ramsay had kidnapped him (his last memory before waking up in the cabin had been stumbling out of the bar at sometime around one in the morning), but he couldn’t have kept Theon unconscious for more than a couple hours. A day, at the most. There was no way he would have had the equipment to keep Theon under safely for much longer. 

All of this pointed to the fact that civilization—safety—was close by, within a day’s walking distance. He simply had to keep out of Ramsay’s sticky hands until he came across the outskirts of a town or city. 

Panting, he closed his eyes and leaned his head against the trunk of a nearby tree. The bark was like smooth sandpaper, cool to the touch and wonderful against his blazing skin. Murmuring, he rubbed his cheek back and forth, preoccupied by the texture. 

Of course it was caused by his heat, but _gods,_ it really was too hot. He loosed the ties on his grubby shirt to get some air to his sweat-slick chest. The relief it provided was short-lasting. It would feel better if he could just remove all his clothes, and maybe stretch out on the forest floor and roll around …

He tore himself away from the tree trunk. The sensation he’d been able to ignore up until now had returned with tenfold strength. Even though nobody was around, he still blushed at the slide of his cheeks and inner thighs, made frictionless by oozing slick. It was maddening—almost itchy in a way. Experimentally, he clenched down there, marveling at the way it spurred an almost involuntary series of contractions that closed his hole around nothing. Gods, what he wouldn’t give for a nice, thick cock to sit on ...

 _Ramsay is hunting you!_ an inner voice blared. _Run, you idiot!_

Gasping, he staggered forward on legs that shook like a newborn foal’s.

* * *

Hours passed. Night was falling soon, the temperature dropping with it. 

Theon found it increasingly hard to think. He was mostly sure he’d been running in a straight line, but his head had turned so foggy it was becoming difficult to remember what direction he’d decided to stick with… and, as the night went on, why he was even running in the first place. 

Eventually his feverish energy ran out and he sank to his knees in the forest loam, leaning against the roots of a massive tree trunk for support. It didn’t make _sense_. He’d been hobbling, walking, and running in one direction the entire day. Shouldn’t he have found signs of nearby civilization? Discarded beer cans, trail markers, old socks?

He rolled over to his side, sucking in lungfuls of oxygen. Vicious cramps had started anew in the pit of his stomach. Stacked on top of his hunger pangs, they were almost unbearable.

“Fuck…” he moaned, curling up and pressing both of his hands over his stomach. Prickly pine needles poked into his cheek, but the sensation didn’t register as pain. In fact, even the cramps didn’t necessarily hurt so much as grab his attention by the reins and demand relief. Maybe it was the adrenalin or the insane cocktail of heat hormones, but all of his aches and pains seemed to have receded like a wave. In their absence, the need grew stronger. He’d become so wet that his pants were soaked all the way through. “Oh, please…” he begged, unsure who it was even directed at. Surely not the gods. It was clear they had abandoned him long ago. 

He flipped himself over again, but only so he could peel his pants halfway down his legs. His thighs were thin, white, and bony. Normally the sight of his mutilated body made him break out in a cold sweat. But at the moment, he could have cared less. All he wanted was relief. 

He squirmed his hand down, bypassing his half-hard cock without hesitation and finding his hole. Even though he’d sort of expected it, he was still startled as two fingers slid in without fuss. He gasped, tilting his head back against the earth. Sparks ignited behind his closed eyelids. So good, it was so good, everything he needed, like a cold glass of water on a hot day. Broken keens slipped from his lips as he bent his wrist and started a stabbing rhythm, kicking his leg as his hole eagerly swallowed around his fingertips. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” he gasped, gripping the forest floor with one hand, hips flexing in small motions to meet the thrust of his hand. 

The orgasm came upon him suddenly; he froze in a severe arch as it ripped through his body, so strong he went momentarily blind and deaf. It had been months since his body had had its turn and its need was irrefutable. Trying to stop it would have been like trying to hold back the tides.

Afterward, he lay there in a stunned heap. His body hummed in satisfaction, his hole still flexing around his limp fingers as if curious at what was inside his body. It took monumental effort to pull them out. Strings of slick followed their departure. He was so wet that his fingers had gone pruny.

That was when the need, momentarily sated, came surging back again like flames coaxed from banked coals. Theon covered his face with his slick-wet hands and sobbed, feeling his body’s demands like a hook behind his ribcage. Fingers wouldn’t assuage his heat for very long. His body craved skin-to-skin contact with an alpha, the scents and exchange of pheromones. It wanted to lock around a knot and squeeze to ensure conception.

The thought of Ramsay finding him like this was enough to send him scrabbling wearily to his feet. It was harder to see where he was going with the fading daylight; at that moment, he lost all care about sticking to a set direction. 

Just as long as it was _away._


End file.
